A little girl whose mother, a poor widow, had told her not to expect any presents, borrowed pencil and paper, and writing the following letter, addressed “Holy Child, care of God The Father,” dropped it in the City Post-Office: “Dear Jesus: Mamma says we are too poor to celebrate your birth-night, but remembering that you were cradled in a manger and once were poor and lowly, I ask you to have pity on me. I want, oh, so much, dear Lord! a new dress, a red rosette for my Sunday hat, and some shoes—wooden ones will do. Gretchen, No. 10, 5th floor, Poverty Row.” Her mother took her after dinner to visit the shops and street bazaars, saying: “Seeing pretty things is almost as nice as having them.” Imagine Gretchen’s surprise on returning home to find a small tree, trimmed and ready to light, in their garret, and beneath it, in addition to the things she had mentioned, a shawl for her mother and a package of cakes and nuts.
The lover of Roschen, a royal kitchen maid, had been convicted of larceny and imprisoned. Her master, a liberal, kind-hearted prince, ordered his steward to distribute, as usual on Christmas, slips of paper to the under-maids with directions to write thereon the gifts they preferred. On Roschen’s slip was written: “Most gracious highness: I appeal through you to God for poor Hans, who, though he stole, is a fine fellow and very dear to me. That money was stolen to buy our wedding ring. Pardon him this once and I guarantee he’ll lead henceforth an honest life.” On the servants’ tree was a box for Roschen enclosing Hans’ pardon and money to buy wedding suits for each.
Louise, Queen of Prussia, and her Sons Frederic William and William
As Frederic William the Fourth was childless, his brother William was declared heir presumptive and known as Prince of Prussia. Cultured, refined, with Herculean strength and Apollo-like grace and beauty, he was the beau ideal of royalty, adored by nobles and burghers. Forming an early attachment for one of his mother’s maids of honor, he insisted for many years—the affection being mutual—on marrying her, but when the succession devolved on him he manfully sacrificed individual feeling to dynastic interests and contracted an alliance with Augusta, Princess of Saxe Weimar. Though both understood that personal preference played no part in their union, the most critical court gossip could find nothing to condemn in their conjugal relations; she, like Cæsar’s wife, above suspicion, yielding him wifely obedience; he, like Bayard, sans peur et sans reproche, uniformly tender and attentive. She was tall, stately, with regular features, cold, haughty manner, every look and gesture suggesting ancestral pride and conscious superiority, yet withal capable of warm attachments and loyal to friends once tried. Devoted to art and literature, she was the friend and patron of artists and scholars, and even when long past middle life still devoted her mornings to study. They had two children, a son named for the great Frederic and a daughter named for that adored Queen Louisa, whose heroism in the Napoleonic struggle had won world-wide recognition and admiration. The former, known in after years as Frederic the Noble, Emperor of Germany, was a wilful, intractable boy, represented in an unamiable light in many familiar anecdotes, yet his career adorns the brightest page in his country’s history. The Prince was devoted to these children, superintending their physical, mental and spiritual development, instilling in their minds correct principles and noble aims, and fitting them by study, discipline and example for their destined high stations. He was standing with Louischen in his arms one morning watching a military procession, when she, excited by the music, sprang through an open window to the street below. Rushing frantically down stairs he was relieved to find her in the arms of a street urchin who, standing beneath the window, caught her as she fell. Of course the boy’s fortune was made. The Prince, clasping his darling to his breast, handed his watch and chain to her rescuer, and, taking his name and address, volunteered his protection. They were riding together in after years in Unter-den-Linden, he German Emperor, she Grand Duchess of Baden, when Hoedel made his dastardly attempt to assassinate his sovereign, and he springing forward to shield his child, accomplished thereby his own deliverance. When Nobiling a few months afterward, and near the same spot, fired at and severely wounded his master, the Emperor’s first words on recovering from the shock were: “Thank God, dear Louischen was not along to-day!”
The Prince’s palace was built during the Great Frederic’s reign, and it is recorded that when the architect applied for a design the King, who was out of humor, said, pointing to a mahogany bureau with a zigzag front standing near: “Model it after that, adding as little architectural frippery as possible.” In front stands Rauch’s famous statue of the great ruler, nearby is the Alter Schloss, city residence of Prussian monarchs, the new Opera House, and many handsome public buildings.
Christmas Eve, 1847, though bitter cold, was bright and sunny, the air clear and crisp was musical with sleigh bells, and the streets, though ice bound, were gay with rejoicing crowds evidently imbued with holiday influences. Directly after breakfast we went to the Thiergarten Lake to witness the delightful entertainment given there daily by Berlin’s far-famed Skating Club. The lake, large, smooth, solid, mirroring a translucent sky, seemed with its banks lined with brilliantly costumed spectators, to suggest and invite winter sport. A military band, sheltered in a warm enclosure, played a succession of inspiring airs, trained voices often joining in and enthusing both onlookers and performers. The skaters executing many picturesque movements, artistic pantomimes, exciting games, and dancing polkas, mazurkas, cotillions, waltzes, were reputed the most skilful in the world. Meyerbeer, who was a frequent visitor, is said to have conceived there the beautiful skating scene in the opera Le Prophete he was then composing. The costumes of the skaters were tasteful and appropriate, the girls wearing short, narrow, heavy cloth skirts, with tight fitting bodices, snug hoods or hats, and a profusion of bright bows, rosettes and scarfs. The men were mostly in uniform, their gay sashes, brilliant orders and decorations enhancing the charm of their lithe, graceful figures. There were no accidents, no untoward occurrences, and the glorious morning proved a delightful prelude to an unforgetable evening. Fraulein von Boyen had given us minute directions as to our costumes and the prescribed etiquette, saying: “Dress simply and inexpensively, be careful never to turn your backs on royal personages, never address remarks or questions to them, allowing them the initiative in conversation.”
Promptly at three o’clock we alighted at the palace porte cochere, and ascending the marble steps, at the top and bottom of which stood armed sentinels, were received by liveried ushers and conducted through the beautiful hall and up the flower-lined stairs to the state drawing rooms where a lady-in-waiting met us and accompanied us through a number of superbly-furnished, beautifully-decorated rooms to the salle de musique, where Fraulein von Boyen welcomed us, and, escorting us to the centre of the salle, presented us to Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess.
The salle, large and spacious,—tessellated floor, frescoed ceiling, walls hung with mirrors and pictures, exquisite bronzes and statues alternating with palms, ferns and flowering plants,—had at its extreme end a flower-trimmed stage, the lowered curtain of which suggested a dramatic performance. Rows of handsomely-cushioned arm chairs were in front of the stage, and just beyond them stood the Crown Princess, surrounded by her royal cousins, children of her father’s brothers. Among her guests were Lady Rose, daughter of Lord Westmoreland, English Ambassador, some other youthful members of the Diplomatic Corps and about forty or fifty maids and youths, children of personal attendants of the Princess.
The Crown Princess, then entering her teens, received us without hesitation or timidity, and we marveled at her self-possession and familiarity with court etiquette; though modest and gentle, there was a notable absence of self-assertion. Dressed in a blue challis trimmed with swan’s down, her only ornament was a gold chain around her bare neck from which hung a medallion miniature of her grandmother, said to be her father’s Christmas present. Fair, with blue eyes, light brown hair worn simply plaited down her back, she was a perfect type of happy, innocent girlhood, her plump, rounded proportions bespeaking health and strength, her bright, expressive face beaming with hope and content. The girls were dressed in bright woolens, bare necks and arms without ornaments; the youths wore the uniforms of the regiments in which they were enrolled as cadets. The Crown Prince, who stood near his sister and gracefully assisted her, wore the uniform of the Royal Guards, in which he already held a command. Tall, slender, rather good looking, he impressed us as being dignified and refined, though grave and reserved. There was some stir when the King and Queen, followed by the Prince and Princess, entered unannounced. The Crown Princess, stepping forward, greeted them cordially, then taking first the Queen’s, then her mother’s, then the King’s, hands, kissed them respectively. She then took her father’s, but folding her in his arms he kissed her tenderly on the brow. Everybody smiled—a touch of nature makes the whole world akin.